Cry From The Grave (Chapter 9)

Cry From The Grave

Chapter 9

     Evan Holbrook looked up as Ballack and Tori entered the door from the narthex into Hibbler's office. The former Illinois State fullback bore a thin glaze of sweat on his forehead and was already in his gear. He hadn't worked with either of them since the St. Basil's Seminary killings, and the present reunion--despite the fact they'd seen each other two days before--was most surreal.

     "I'm just getting started," he announced with surprising boldness. "Although an accurate read on time of death is going to be a tightrope walk."

     "You're going to get a temperature before Sheilah checks out the desk area?" asked Tori.

     Holbrook shook his head, indicating he'd wait. "Impossible at the seated angle. But I'll wait. She seems an efficient type."

     "One of the best," Ballack agreed. "To be honest, we're probably looking at a time of death between seven and ten o'clock this morning."

     "That was fast. You obviously have access to data that I don't."

     Ballack waved off the compliment. "The benefits of being able to canvas the residents and staff."

     "So, this Hibbler guy is..."

     "The hospice director, executive director, or, well, I forget. Either title will do."

     "One of the patients claimed they heard him roll into the parking lot this morning," explained Tori.

     "How did they know that?" Holbrook asked. "Did an explosive muffler announce his arrival from twenty yards?"

     "He has--or had--a tendency to blast his Rachmaninoff at high decibels," Ballack corrected.

     "Well then," the medical examiner said, rubbing his gloved hands, "there's not much to say on the time of death. But I'd go with your guess even before getting a rectal temp. Given that rigor mortis hasn't set in yet, your assessment is likely the right one. Mode of death is without any doubt. Stab wound on the right side of the neck. Odd place for an entry, but it did the job. I know from experience neither of you is squeamish, so come on around and take a look."

     Tori allowed Ballack to wheel around, both of them careful not to touch the desk and Tori wearing soft shoe covers over her low-cut boots. Both of them looked closely as Holbrook tenderly prodded around the wound.

     "Tremendous force here. Ideally, he only suffered for a second. I've known people to take their lives in the office or elsewhere at work, but this was no suicide. It's located at an unusual point on the body. There's no trace of the weapon, either. Plus, the entry point is toward the front of the neck and begins just an inch to the right of the laryngeal prominence--you know, the Adam's apple. Hibbler couldn't have had the leverage to do this himself. Whoever did this then pulled back on the blade and severed the exterior carotid artery and the internal jugular vein, both snapping like ribbons along with the vagus nerve."

     It was a particularly ghastly wound, thought Ballack. Hibbler's neck area was exposed like some cross-section anatomical display from high school biology class.

     "Rather unsettling, if you ask me," Holbrook continued. "Only one wound, but the way it was done suggests passion in the attack, even if it lasted only a few seconds. Has all the hallmarks of brutality and surgical precision in the same motion. Pretty chilling, that's for sure."

     Tori took a closer look at the same time Hull poked his head into the room.

     "We're interviewing Beverly Overton after we speak with the patients. Missy has already finished with two of them."

     "Take Anna Barber after you're done with her," directed Ballack. "We'll corner Father Giles and Isabel Andrews in the chapel, and then we'll see where we are from there."